For Your Entertainment
by Asuke23x
Summary: Dean Winchester has it all, and, apparently, someone else wants it too, because they've been on a killing spree, and they've set their sights on Dean. Castiel Novak has been assigned to the case, and has to close it as quickly as possible before some one else dies. But soon, both of them will discover that everyone has corners of their past that are best left dark. Destiel. Au.Yaoi
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, but the story plot is all mine.

Here is my first Destiel fic! I hope you guys like it. Dean nor Cas is in this prologue, but they will be in all the other chapters. I will try to keep them in character as best as i can, so i apologize if they are a little OOC. Just let me know if that ever happens, because I will fix it right away. Thanks, and enjoy this (I hope)!

I want to thank and dedicate this prologue to my wonderful and inspiring beta Stirling Phoenix, because without her this prologue would be shit! XD

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Summary: Dean Winchester has it all: money and power. Well, apparently, someone else wants it too, because they've been on a killing spree, and they've set their sights on Dean.

Castiel Novak has been assigned to the case, and has to close it as quickly as possible before some one else dies. Cas also has been assigned to keep an eye on a certain annoying, sarcastic, narcissistic, and completely gorgeous man that drives him up the wall with his craziness. But soon, each of them will discover that everyone has corners of their past that are best left dark, and the answers they both could uncover, if they dig deep enough, will be anything but pleasant.

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For Your Entertainment

Prologue

The night was young, the moon was full, and the young man that stumbled out of his favorite bar was drunk as a skunk, but blissfully happy. The tall man hailed a taxi with a drunken wave, and practically fell into the cab face-first as he tried to climb in.

"Damn, man," the taxi driver laughed after the man gave slurred directions to his uptown apartment, "Good day for you, huh?"

"The fucking best!" the man chuckled in return as he cheered drunkenly in the back seat.

The dark skinned man driving the cab smiled, his broad shoulders moving as he twisted the vehicle's wheel to the right to turn onto another street. "That good?"

"Mhmm," the passenger hummed. "Closed a million dollar deal."

The driver whistled appreciatively. "Wow, man. That IS something to be happy about~," he said as the taxi pulled over to the curb. "Here we are, sir. Hope the rest of your evening is as great as your day was."

The million dollar deal man grinned broadly. "Thanks, man. You too!" He then opened his wallet and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. "Here," he murmured, leaning into the front seat, and slapped the crisp bill into the other man's palm before staggering out onto the sidewalk. "Keep the change. G'night."

The taxi driver returned the smile with a tip of his hat. "Thanks, sir. Good night to you as well."

The young man just nodded, and turned to stumble up the steps to his apartment, deeply breathing in the warm Los Angeles air. It took a few tries, but eventually he got his key into the door lock, and hip checked the door.

The man almost face planted into the floor as he tripped over his own feet walking through the doorway, but he caught himself at the last minute. He was giggling to himself as he relocked the door, and clumsily flicked on the light switch before throwing his keys onto a nearby side table next to where he kicked off his shoes.

The happy young man then swayed unsteadily to the kitchen to get a drink of water. After he was satisfied, he turned around had started to head to his bedroom and call it a night, when a shadow in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He shook his head, chiding himself for having such an overactive imagination, but then jumped, letting out a yelp of surprise as he turned to see a figure standing right behind him.

His heart only calmed down when he saw who it was.

"Whew, it was just you!" he laughed, slurring in relief. "I didn't even hear you come in. You plan on crashing here tonight?"

The man leaned back against the kitchen counter, waiting for an answer. At the his guest's silence, he asked again, this time with more concern in his voice. "Hey, you all right?"

The slick sound of a knife being pulled out of the knife block was his answer as the guest took a deliberate step forward, making the the man back up into the counter behind him..

"W-Whoah, you gonna cook?" the now cornered man asked, his heart thudding crazily against his ribs. Then his eyes widened in shock as the knife was raised, and then plunged down into his chest. He coughed, blood bubbled from his mouth as the knife entered and left his body over and over again.

A nasty gurgling sound came out of the man's throat as he tried to cry, but he could only slump bonelessly to the ground. The killer just grinned as the madness shined brightly in their eyes. As the young man lay on the ground, the knife once again burying itself in his chest, he wondered how he could have missed it before now.

'I'm such an idiot,' was his last thought before the light faded from his eyes, and were left staring unfocused and confused at the ceiling.

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okay guys, I hoped you all liked that prologue! Please remember to review and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the plot.

I want to dedicate this chapter to Stirling Phoenix! You are amazing, and thank you so much for taking some time out of your busy day to help me! You are such a good friend!

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For You Entertainment

Chapter 1

As Castiel Novak slipped under the yellow tape, his tan trench coat lightly brushed the wet ground. He flashed his badge briefly at the apartment's entrance to an officer on guard, and then walked on. Making his way through the apartment's foyer, Castiel weaved between the photographers and their flashing bulbs, the investigators hanging around a fascinating piece of evidence, and the forensic team talking amongst themselves, and carefully into the scene of the crime: the kitchen.

The kitchen was spacious, and very warm, Castiel supposed, as far as kitchens go. The only downfall, it seemed, were the huge pools and splatters of blood, littered with assorted body parts that were thrown across the walls, counters, and floor.

Castiel stepped over a finger that laid in a puddle dark blood, and towards the man who was in charge. He was a tall, broad, African American man, who had a very tense and commanding presence among the officers. He was talking intently to another officer; Castiel waited several moments before awkwardly clearing his throat.

The tall officer turned toward him. "What?" he snapped in a clearly irritated tone, glaring his dark eyes at Castiel.

"Officer Gordon Walker?" Castiel asked in return, fishing through his coat pockets a moment before grasping what he was looking for.

"Yeah, that's me, but who the fuck are you?" he asked bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Castiel stepped forward again, undaunted, opening his badge.

"Agent Novak, FBI. I have been assigned to help move this case along."

Officer Walker snatched the black badge holder out of Castiel's hold, and examined it with a stern, and dark gaze. When he was satisfied, he huffed and tossed the badge back.

Castiel caught it, and looked at the man in front of him.

"I didn't know the Feds were concerned over this case. It's very open and shut," Gordon said with indifference, but Castiel knew that he was trying to get information out of the newcomer.

"I just go where they send me," he said, and then moved on, avoiding Gordon's words by asking, "Can you tell me what you have so far?"

The officer raised his eyebrows mockingly, and snorted as he placed his hands in his jean pockets before answering, "Oh, right down to business. Well, Agent, at Seven this morning, the vic was found. Or what was left of him at least," the officer added.

Castiel nodded thoughtfully, and bent down to unabashedly study a chunk of the victim's deteriorating body matter on the tiled floor, before poking it with the toe of his shoe.

"I see," he said, looking up at Gordon briefly before turning his attention back to the morbid scene around him. "And who found him?"

"He was discovered by the cleaning lady that worked for the deceased," Gordon said with some disgust as Castiel seemed to ignore him for the body organs in front of him.

"Any chance that she is a suspect?"

"No. She had a spare key, and complete access to the apartment, but her alibi for the night of the murder is solid."

"As I would expect," the agent said with sigh as he straightened to his feet, and walked over to examine another part of the kitchen that had caught his eye. "Am I to understand, Officer Walker, that this makes the sixth homicide in the past three months?"

Gordon stiffened at Castiel's question, his face darkened further with anger and irritation. It was obvious that he felt Castiel was encroaching in his investigation. The young, dark haired man was oblivious to the other man's reaction though, waiting for the man to answer as he continued to pace carefully around the kitchen, studying everything with dark blue, cryptic eyes.

"Yes," the man finally answered through slightly clenched teeth.

The blue eyed man nodded again. "Any witnesses?" he asked.

The burly officer was hesitant for a moment before answering, "Some people that were slumming out in front of a bar on Lawrence Drive said that the vic left the bar around Two in the morning, hailed a cab, then left. I plan on interviewing the cabbie later this afternoon."

"Good. Please report to me when it's done. I recommend that that you check out the bar again. Also the neighbors. Someone had to have seen something useful," Castiel said absently, now inspecting a blood stained knife.

Officer Walker clenched his hands at his sides, probably thinking about wanting to ring the FBI agent's neck, but forced himself to hold himself in check.

"Yes, sir," the other officer said stiffly.

"I hope you understand that this nothing personal. I am just -"

"Oh I understand, all right," Gordon said, stepping right into Castiel's personal space. "I understand that a G-man like you has no business being here." He grabbed the tan lapels of Castiel's trench coat, yanking him even closer. His breath felt hot against Castiel's face.

The younger man forced himself not to react, instead observing how everyone within earshot was conveniently oblivious to the happenings in the kitchen between the two men.

"Why don't you go back to your comfy chair in your comfy office, sit back, look pretty, and let the real police do this properly?" Officer Walker said with such fake pleasantness that it was sickening, and released him with a sneer and a small shove.

Castiel blinked at Gordon, then glared right back, his dark blue eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Even if I could do what you suggest, I wouldn't. But don't worry, officer, I don't intend to get in your way. As I said earlier, I am merely here to assist." For now, at least, he added to himself.

Gordon opened his mouth again, no doubt to make another passive-aggressive comment, but was cut off by the bubbly ringtone of the FBI agent's phone as it pinged with a call.

Castiel slid the phone from his pocket, and swiped the screen to accept the call, knowing there would hell to pay if he ignored it.

"Castiel here," he announced, keeping his voice neutral.

"Where are you, Castiel? We've been waiting for half an hour already!" A female voice nagged.

The said man resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, Naomi, I know, and I am truly sorry. I was asked to make a quick," his gaze flicked over to the nearest body part, "Stop first. Tell Baltazar that I will be there shortly."

"Castiel-" the senior officer's voice was cut off as Castiel flipped his phone shut.

"Trouble in paradise?" a sneer cut in behind him.

Castiel turned toward Gordon as he pocketed his phone.

"Well, that's my que. Thank you for filling me in, and have a good day, Officer Walker," Castiel said with forced politeness, then practically flew from the apartment to his car.

Castiel's 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V was parked in an abandoned side street, the shade from the buildings was hiding its wonderful, sparkling, jubilee gold paint. He climbed in with a sigh, and carefully pulled out of the alley, and onto the street.

As he drove, Castiel couldn't help but think of Gordon's words, and thus his own career in the force. The day he had turned 18, Castiel submitted himself for FBI training, and five brutal, and hellish weeks later, he was admitted into the academy.

By 20, Castiel had moved up the ranks, and was assigned to criminal investigations under the watchful eye of senior agent, Gadreel. Two years after that, Gadreel was killed in action, and at just the tender age of 22, Castiel Novak was promoted again, this time to senior officer. Now he was 27, still in the prime of his life, and had everything in a career he could ever ask for.

At the bureau he was known as the Avenging Angel, and although he was admired for his commitment and tenacity, he was also hated and despised by his colleges. While everyone wanted to be him, everyone hated him. They saw him as the guy with all the privileges, but not as the man who had worked so hard for them.

Of course, Castiel had learned to stop caring about what others thought of him a long time ago, and as a result of his cold politeness, and general lack of people skills outside of work, he sorely lacked friends of any sort, with only a few exceptions. Even his family rarely spoke to him outside of work, and as the youngest of the five brothers, Castiel decided it was best this way.

That was one of the reasons the dark haired man thought it was odd that one of his brothers had requested to meet with him when he had learned that Castiel was in town indefinitely.

Castiel drove his car into the parking lot, threw some quarters into a nearby parking meter, and swiftly walked into a building. As he grabbed the door handle, the glass reflection showed a haggard and disheveled looking Castiel. He had a heavy five o'clock shadow, a rumpled suit that was flecked with dirt and sweat, and a massive case of bedhead.

Castiel ran his fingers through his hair in a halfhearted attempt to somewhat fix his appearance, but soon gave up, and just yanked open the door to stride in. He was greeted by the person behind the desk as he went through the lobby, and into an adjacent conference room.

There was a long rectangular table in the center of the room, and seated at the middle of it was Naomi Haven, Castiel's boss, whom he strongly believed was Satan incarnate.

"Hello, Castiel," Naomi said dryly, her hands, gently folded, over the top of the hard oak table in front of herself. "So good of you come."

Castiel felt his cheeks turn a little pink with embarrassment at the thought of his appearance compared to Naomi's always prim and proper outfits that were always spotless, but he forced it down, and turned his dark gaze to the blond at the head of the table.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Castiel. How are you, my darling baby brother?" the man asked, his smooth English accent rang through the room.

"I am well, Baltazar. Thank you for asking. I trust that you are well too?"

Baltazar leaned back in his plush chair. "Never better, Cassie." he said, gesturing toward the seat next to him. Castiel obliged by walking over, and sitting down. "For the reason I called you here, asking to meet… Do you know why?" the older brother asked.

"Well, for work of course," the youngest replied, but sounded a little unsure.

"No, no, Cassie!" the blond laughed, and sat forward. "I wanted to have lunch with you!" he said. "But you look like a train wreck, and I refuse to go out in public with a hobo!"

Castiel looked at his brother in confusion. "What? Lunch?"

The other man nodded, rolling his eyes. "Yes, dearest Cassie, lunch. A meal generally eaten in the middle of the day, and enjoyed tremendously in good company," he said in an annoyed tone, before adding mockingly, " How I have missed our little heart-to-heart chats."

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"Now, the only way for me to forgive you is if you go to dinner with me tonight."

"Balthazar," Castiel said seriously, "I don't think that now is the time to be distracted from the case at hand."

Castiel's brother scoffed. "Oh, come on, Cassie!" he exclaimed chidingly. "Do be such a stick in the mud! We haven't seen each other in ages!"

It was Castiel's turn to roll his eyes at his brother's theatrics. "And what about the piling cases, brother? Hmm?" he asked rhetorically.

"Actually," Balthazar said with a shit eating grin as he leaned forward, "we have had a team of experts studying the case's perpetrator. I may or may not have a list of potential targets that fit the killer's criteria…"

Castiel sat up straighter. "Are you telling me truth?"

The blond nodded.

"Then tell me!"

"Na-uh, baby brother. Equivalent exchange, don't forget. Nothing in this living hell is free," he tsked, with an amused look in his eyes.

"That is dirty, Balthazar, playing that hand," Castiel said darkly.

The blond laughed happily. "Yes, of course! Now, will I expect you at dinner?"

Castiel heaved a heavy sigh, admitting defeat. "And if go? Things are always complicated with you, brother. It would be anything but a dinner."

The blond laughed again as he stood, and straightened his fine tailored suit. "No spoilers, Cassie. Come tonight, all with be revealed." Then Balthazar snapped his fingers together, and a small entourage of young women rushed into the room.

Castiel glared at his brother. "That's not fair, Balthazar."

The older brother took his outer jacket from a beautiful girl. He winked at her suggestively as he slipped the article on, then turned back to Castiel.

"Life isn't fair, dear Cassie," he sneered with a shrug. "Now, I will see you at dinner- no 'buts', Castiel, I mean it. And make sure to wear something nice." he added. "Ciao!"

Castiel could only watch helplessly as his older brother flounced out of the conference room with a dismissive wave over his shoulder, then disappeared from sight.

He sighed tiredly, and rubbed his eyes, wondering what he had done to deserve a night of certain torture.

"Got to admit, Castiel," Naomi said as she stood as well, and gathered up the papers and folders in front of her, "he always gets what he wants, and that's why you admire him." And with that, Naomi left the room too, leaving Castiel alone, to study the sight of his face reflecting off of the dark table's shiny surface.

He slumped back in his chair, and muttered to the open air, "I do not have a good feeling about this…"

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okay, guys! i hope you liked this chapter! Please remember to review to let me know! i am not gonna write a story that none wants to read! :)


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: i own nothing!

Here's the next chapter, you guys. Thank you all for the reviews~!

And sorry for the wait, but my brains been a pain in the ass. Sorry that it is so short, too. I promise the next one will be longer.

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For Your Entertainment

Chapter 2

Photographers lined the streets with their cameras flashing like streaks of lighting as Dean Winchester stepped out of the limo he had arrived in. He knew that he was addicted to this feeling of being wanted, of being desired, and he knew he would never grow sick of it.

Dean flashed his fans his signature smirk as he waved and posed for the cameras with his friends and co-stars. He revelled in the attention as he made his way down the walkway toward the venue that was hosting the cast-only cast party.

"DEAN!" fan girls screamed at the top of their lungs as he passed them by, their hands reached out through the barriers of bodyguards and ropes in hopes of getting their chance to touch him.

He gave them all his sexiest gaze. They all screamed louder, their shrill voices were music to his ears. When Dean finally reached the entrance of the venue, he was greeted by his bastard of a producer and director, Fergus MacLeod.

Everyone in the filming world just called him Crowley, but the 5'9", british bastard was also known as "The King", seeing as he had the most Oscar nominated films, and cast members in the history of, well, ever.

"Come on, Squirrel, I don't pay you flirt with the money makers," he snapped, his accent filled with impatience as he ushered Dean inside.

"I thought I was the money maker, Crowley," Dean laughed as said man shoved him along to the room where the cast party was being hosted.

"No, you're the pretty face," Crowley corrected. "Those harpies outside are the only things standing between you and the life of a street bum. I-oh, great." Crowley paused for a moment, a look of disdain washed over his face before continuing, " Speaking of a harpy… Lydia, darling, so good to see you."

Crowley's voice was dripping with mock pleasantness, and Dean watched as he kissed the said woman's cheek when she reached them.

"Crowley," she smiled as she returned the greeting with just as much forced civility, and then turned to Dean. "Well, hello there, stud," she purred.

He flashed Lydia a cheeky grin, and said silkily, "Hello~."

Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes in disgust. "You two could at least _try_ to pretend that you haven't been fucking each other for Christ's sake," he grumbled, and then stalked away.

Lydia smiled at Dean suggestively, and the second that Crowley was out of sight, she grabbed Dean by his maroon blazer, and yanked him behind the nearest door that just so happened to be a supply closet.

She smashed their mouths together roughly in clack of teeth and passion. Dean responded by gently pinning her against the back of the door, returning her kiss. Lydia grabbed ahold of his dirty blond hair with one hand, and his black dress shirt with the other,and pressed her lips even closer to Dean's, deepening their kiss.

Dean broke the kiss for air first, his lungs screamed for oxygen. He shuddered as Lydia kissed down his neck, and nipped at his sun kissed skin.

"Lydia," he breathed as she ran her hands over his chest, and down his stomach.

"Hmm?" she hummed as her hands came to rest on the belt buckle around his waist. She had started to unbuckle him when Dean's hands went to her's, and gently pulled them away.

"As much as I want to, I don't think that _that_ is a good idea right now," he said with regret.

Lydia pulled back like he had slapped her, and sharply shoved him away from her. Her eyes were blazing in anger at Dean as she fixed her already perfect hair. Then she coldly looked at him, and opened the door, and left him fixing the buckle of his pants, and self consciously rubbing the lipstick off of his neck as he wondered what the hell he said to piss her off this time.

He then exited the closet himself, and wandered over to where some of his less dramatic co-stars stood around, talking pleasantly to one another.

"Dean~!" Charlie cried as she flung herself into him. Thankfully he caught himself before they both went tumbling to the floor.

"Hi, Charlie. Where's Dorothy?"

Charlie let go of Dean, and with a pout, said, "She is away on a business trip."

Dean shook his head, smiling at Charlie's childish antics, and plucked a beer from the tray of a passing waiter. He popped the cap off, and took several sips before giving Charlie a pinch on her cheek in mock sympathy.

The feisty red head slapped his hand away with a scowl. Then, as if he was watching a movie in slow motion, all the faces in his circle of co-workers lit up, and collectively screeched in happiness.

Then they flew off, giggling all the way, even Meg and Jo, the most stoic of all in the group of women. He was at a loss for what to do, unsure what would draw such a reaction from them. But when he turned, he saw not WHAT, but WHO had caused the girls to get so worked up, he understood, all right.

He was possibly the most amazing looking man in all of Christendom. His dark chocolate hair was messily brushed back, and his startling blue eyes locked with Dean's a moment before the man was bowled over by the pack of girls.

"CASTIEL~!" Charlie cried with glee as she hugged him tightly.

'Castiel' smiled warmly back, and returned her hug.

"Wow, look at you, Charlie," he said, holding her out at arm's length to inspect her. "And Jo, you two both look beautiful."

There was sincerity in the brunette's deep voice, and it caused a small shiver to run up Dean's spine. That was, until the man turned to Meg.

"And what about me, Clarence?" She challenged, hands on her hips.

'Oh, boy,' Dean thought with a smirk. 'He is gonna get eaten alive.'

But Castiel just smiled broadly, his white teeth framed by pale pink lips.

"You're looking good too, Meg," he said simply, and took a step forward to give the woman a hug.

Dean watched, waiting for the guy to get punched as Meg reached out a hand, and grasped his shirt, but instead she yanked him closer, and roughly kissed his mouth.

If Dean hadn't been there to witness it, he would never have believed it. Castiel seemed to be expecting that, though, and gave her a solid kiss back. Before he let her get a grip on him; however, he pushed her away.

"Nice to see you again, too, Meg," he chuckled, and gave her a quick, one armed hug before releasing her.

Dean had found himself speechless, and without his consent, his feet brought him over to the group.


End file.
